


Against All Odds

by rainbowphan



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: 72nd Hunger Games, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Explicit Sexual Content, Hunger Games, M/M, Many YouTubers, YouTube
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-12-01 20:40:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11494338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainbowphan/pseuds/rainbowphan
Summary: "Welcome to the 72nd Hunger Games!”"And may the odds be ever in your favor.”Phil Lester is paired with the alluring and mysterious Daniel Howell as District 3 tributes in the 72nd Hunger Games, and realizes that survival might not be his biggest problem.Based off of Suzanne Collin's The Hunger Games.NOTE:  In this version of the Hunger Games, tributes aren’t separated by gender when selected, and can be of same gender.





	1. Prologue

"Welcome to the 72nd Hunger Games!  
   
"And may the odds be ever in your favor." 

In the distant future, America has been destroyed, replaced with a nation called Panem: 12 unfortunate districts surrounding the glorious Capitol.  

Phil Lester is a citizen of District 3: the nation’s powerhouse, the District of Technology. He has it better than many of the citizens his age; at the mere age of 18, he’s on the path to securing a spot as a district engineer, with his incredible talents and brilliant mind. Meaning he’ll be able to make a decent living for himself and his family, a rare occurrence in the districts.

And as he’s 18, it is his last year of the Reaping. He just has to endure one more dreaded ceremony, and his life would be normal. He would have a secure job and he would be well-off, even in a grim place like District 3. That’s all he wants, and all he’s ever wanted.

But the odds aren't always in everyone's favor.

So when it’s Phil’s name on that fateful piece of paper, everything he has built up for his life crumbles instantly, and it’s as if he’s received his death sentence as he steps up to take his place as District 3 tribute. 

And to make things worse, Phil's partner is Daniel Howell: a mysterious, alluring boy with a thinly veiled instinct to kill. 

But he didn't matter to Phil, right? After all, Phil had enough to worry about, such as survival. And maybe, just maybe, he could stand a chance of surviving, given his gifted mind and quick wit. But he never knew that his partner could become his biggest problem. 

Daniel Howell was out to destroy him, in more ways than one. Let the games begin.


	2. Chapter I

He let his friend’s words wash over him meaninglessly, his eyes tracing the cracks in the dull gray pavement.

“Phil? Are you listening to me? These design plans need to be submitted for approval this week if you want to stay on their good side. This device is extremely critical for the Capitol and this could be the game-changer if we want to move up in the field—”

Phil let out a harsh sigh, his eyes still fixated on the ground, effectively silencing the slightly older man in front of him. A long moment of tense silence passed before he finally spoke.

“Look Peej, I can’t do this right now,” he said, his voice coming out snappier than he wanted, “let’s talk about this after tomorrow, when we can both focus. I’m just not in the mood right now.” 

His voice cracked slightly on the last word, and he felt the nerves claw at his stomach, as it had been all week. He closed his eyes, and willed himself to take deep breaths.

A few more seconds passed. When the other boy, PJ, spoke again, his voice was softer, gentler. “I know you’re stressed about the Reaping—” Phil gulped softly at the word, taking another shaky breath as PJ continued, “—but the chances of you getting picked are incredibly small, Phil. There are over 20,000 people ages 12-18 in District 3, more than 50,000 entries, and you only have 7 entries,” PJ stated matter-of-factly, ever the brainiac. 

Phil’s expression stayed impassive. PJ sighed, and continued. “Listen. Your brother got through it. I got through it. And if God or some other… higher being exists, there’s no way They gave you such an incredible brain just for it to go to waste. Phil.” 

PJ put his hand on Phil’s shoulder, the latter finally looking up to meet his friend’s profound gaze. 

“You’re a genius, and you will the most prominent engineer Panem has ever seen. This reaping won’t change that, can’t change what’s meant to be.” 

Phil felt a familiar sting behind his eyes, his vision blurring a bit from the oncoming tears. PJ said no more but kept his hand on his shoulder, and they lapsed back into a comfortable silence as Phil tried to collect himself.

It was times like these that he felt eternally grateful to have PJ as a friend. Sure, he had helped Phil with the heavy calculus portions of his engineering classes because he was just as brilliant as Phil if not more (though PJ would never admit that), and sure he provided constant encouragement for Phil to work harder and unlock his full potential as an engineer so he could work in the Capitol one day. Because “he deserved more” than staying cooped up this wretched place.

But, more than anything, PJ understood Phil. He knew how to ease Phil’s anxiety, especially during this time of the year, during the time of the Reaping. He was patient and loyal and supportive. He was the older brother that Martyn never was for Phil.

Although Phil knew he couldn’t blame Martyn; his brother worked long, painful hours as a mechanic, coming home late at night with a sore back and crabby as hell. They never talked anymore. 

But someone had to bring money in. Losing their father to cancer and their mother’s handicap that rendered her unable to walk meant that Martyn was their sole breadwinner. And if that meant that he couldn’t be there for Phil, then so be it.

That was also one of the reasons Phil was so desperate to start working: to ease his brother’s burden. To feel like he was finally doing something to help his family. 

He was actually quite famous for his prodigious skills in District 3, even capturing the interests of many top engineering teams located in the Capitol. Receiving the highest marks on electrical engineering exams in all of the district and coming up with ingenious ideas for technological advancements in the form of electronic gadgets didn’t go unnoticed; it was no secret that Phil was going places. 

But he still felt useless. Securing that spot as an engineer, bringing loads of money home and seeing genuine smiles on the tired faces of his mom and brother would be the only achievement that mattered.

PJ cleared his throat, and Phil snapped back to reality, completely forgetting that PJ was still there. He had a bad habit of zoning off from time to time, getting lost in his own thoughts. “Of course your thoughts would get lost, in a brain that big,” PJ had joked before.

But there was no joking between the boys now. PJ’s expression was somber, though he attempted to hide it from Phil. Although PJ tried his best to be reassuring, the slight chance of losing his best friend to the Hunger Games, subjecting him to the most horrible fate possible, was a troubling thought. 

Feeling slightly unnerved, PJ finally stood from where they had been sitting, in front of Phil’s house. “I should probably get going,” he said, trying to keep his voice from shaking. “I need to pick up some food at the market on the way home. Be strong, okay? Everything will be fine.” Phil noticed how PJ wasn’t meeting his eyes as he said it.

Phil cracked a bitter smile. “Thanks Peej. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, receiving a solemn nod from the older boy.

“And we’ll discuss this device plan day after tomorrow,” PJ replied, making his point clear as he hopped on his bike.

Phil didn’t reply to that, instead turning his attention above, to the grim storm clouds overhead. They seemed to loom menacingly, foreboding in nature as they collected in the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you guys enjoyed this, please show it some love!! Thanks for reading xx


	3. Chapter II

When Phil was 7, he asked his mother where their strange accent came from. She told him that their ancestors had come from a faraway land a long, long time ago, a land that spoke differently, back when America still existed. Her eyes had nervously shifted left and right as she told him this, making sure that there were no Peacekeepers that had heard. Speaking of Panem’s dark history and rise from the ashes of a country once known as the United States of America was dangerous if not done right. Making mistakes was not forgivable in Panem.

“Did they have the Hunger Games in America, Mum?” Phil had then asked, in the characteristically naive way of a 7-year-old, not knowing the possible consequences of his insatiable curiosity. 

His mother’s pale skin, an attribute Phil had inherited, grew even paler, as she quickly shook her head. “You’ll learn about this when you’re older, Phillip,” she said in a stern tone, clearly demanding that he drop the subject. But Phil, the sharp boy he was, didn’t miss the shaking in her voice.

His mother had tried as hard as she possibly could to keep Phil from knowing about the horrors of the Games until his first Reaping; until he had to know. She never let him near the TV when it was on, she refused to answer any of his questions about it, to let anyone around him speak about it. Phil was undeniably curious, but he knew he wouldn’t like what he’d hear. He knew when to keep his mouth shut. So, until he was 12, he had stayed in his own little peaceful world, where evil never existed, where he was safe.

Boy, did he have a lot to learn about reality.

Now he lay on his hellishly uncomfortable bed. He hated that thing, it was rock-solid and unforgiving, and he woke up with a terrible backache every day. But he never dared to complain about it because how selfish would that be? His family had bigger things to worry about, like making sure there was food on the table for the night. And for the next day, and the day after that.

The dusty roads outside his house, which were usually bustling, were completely empty tonight. The tension in the air over the whole community was palpable, as the day of the Reaping slowly approached, until it was just a matter of hours. Just one more night, and then a few more hours after that. And then I’m free, Phil thought. It was a happy thought, with which he tried to calm himself down.

Phil knew it was going to be difficult to fall asleep, with his nerves. There was a frigid daft in his room, and he could feel the goosebumps evading his skin with no intention of leaving. He stared up at the ceiling, trying to erase his mind of all thoughts in some sort of meditative way, only focusing on the ticktocks of a clock somewhere in his house. But even the sounds of the clock seemed ominous, as if it was some final countdown.

He sighed, shifting onto his side and slowly opened the drawer of his ratty old bedside table, trying not wake his brother, who slept on an identical bed across the room. He pulled out one of the only prized possessions he owned: a little stuffed lion. He held it to his chest, running his fingers through its matted mane, feeling calmer already. 

It was the last thing his father had bought him before he had died. It was worn out and quite dirty, with tiny rips in the fabric, Phil having carried it literally everywhere he went for over a year after his father’s death. Like it was his lifeline. 

And now its therapeutic powers never failed him, even at the most distressing times.

Soon midnight was approaching and Phil, lion still in his grasp, could feel sleep starting to overcome him, thankfully. Until he heard the sound of the wheels of a wheelchair over creaking floorboards outside his room.

He jolted completely awake in surprise. He thought his mother had gone to bed, but soon he saw her tired, drawn face as she rolled herself slowly into the room, panting slightly at the manual effort.

He set the lion to the side and sat up. “Mum?” he whispered, “Why aren’t you asleep?”

His mother smiled wearily, rolling up to his side of the bed. “Couldn’t sleep. Something didn’t feel right,” she said, gently taking Phil’s hand in her warm one, “so I thought I would come talk to you instead.” She looked at him intensely with an unreadable expression, as if memorizing every single detail, every feature of his face. Like this was the last time she would get to see him.

Phil looked down at their hands, suddenly unable to meet her scrutinizing gaze. He heard ruffling as Martyn rolled over onto his side in his sleep, his breathing even.

They stayed like that for a few moments, before Phil couldn’t hold it in any longer. “I’m so scared, Mum,” he blurted out softly. “For tomorrow. What if—”

His mom cut him off with a ‘shh,’ her eyes shiny, filled to the brim with evident pain when he looked into them again. “Don’t even say it. You’ll be okay.” She unconsciously nodded to herself as she said it, as if trying to convince herself of it.

Phil didn’t know why something felt so off. But suddenly terror hit him like a truck and the next second he felt hot tears falling down his face. He let out a quiet sob.

“Oh no, Phillip.” His mother’s voice was strained has she placed her other hand on his face, wiping his tears with her thumb.

He ducked his head, hating how weak and sensitive he was—he was eighteen, for god’s sakes. Weak people didn’t get by in the districts. His mother squeezed his hand protectively.

“I hate what they do to our children, those bloodthirsty savages. They’re going to hell.”

Phil froze, shocked at the controlled rage and spite in his mother’s tone and her choice of words; the way she seethed with unadulterated hatred. He had never heard her speak about the Capitol and their citizens this way. It was as though something about the dark had made her bolder. 

He instinctively peeked out the window, making sure no one was lurking nearby.

“They won’t take my Phillip,” his mother muttered feverishly, mostly to herself. “They’ll never take you away from me. I won’t let them.” 

Every single one of her words felt like a stab to his heart. Phil couldn’t stop crying. He just cried and cried, holding on to his mother’s hand like it was dear life. 

Soon enough he finally succumbed to exhaustion, despair evaporating as he let sleep overtake him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you guys enjoyed this, please show it some love!! Thanks for reading xx


End file.
